


Have It All

by doc_sock



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Also: werewolf flu, And awkward conversations, Derek is seriously fucked up in the head, Derek thinks they're fuck buddies, M/M, Stiles thinks they're dating, because why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 23:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doc_sock/pseuds/doc_sock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is glad that he and Stiles are fuck buddies, really. So he wants more than that. So what? It's not like what he wants is important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have It All

The first time they fucked it wasn't anything special. Stiles had been at Derek's stupid loft all day, playing video games and bitching about Scott and Isaac, loitering on the edge of Derek's vision like he had something to say but wasn't sure how to say it. It was a first, for sure, and Derek didn't plan on helping him out any.

It wasn't that Derek _wanted_ Stiles. He wanted a lot of things involving Stiles -- he wanted him to stay safe, wanted him to smile more, wanted him to-

He wanted a lot of things involving Stiles, but he didn't want Stiles. No good would come of wanting something like that. Derek didn't get nice things, and while it was debatable whether or not Stiles would be a nice thing, Derek didn't really want to find out. He was happy ("happy") with the status quo, where he was achingly aware of every time Stiles checked out his ass and just as aware that he could never do anything about it.

Today had involved a lot of ass-checking-out and a lot of Stiles make impatient faces that Derek couldn't begin to decode while swearing at the game console. He was pretty sure the faces weren't about the game; maybe he was waiting for Derek to do something and was frustrated that Derek wasn't. Maybe he wanted Derek to-

No, he wasn't going there, not when Stiles kept sneaking unsubtle glances over at him in between incessant chatter about the bromance Scott and Isaac had going on and hurling insults at the screen.

He watched warily when Stiles turned off the game console and came to stand next to the couch, slightly unnerved by the sudden silence in the apartment.

"Hey," Stiles said, never one to let a silence last any longer than it had to. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and flicked his eyes to the open bedroom door. "You want to, maybe..." He flicked his eyes to the door again and back to focus somewhere on Derek that was below his face, he was pretty sure. Derek tracked his tongue as it flicked out to wet his lips, a nervous gesture. He could feel the tension coming off of Stiles in waves.

It suddenly clicked, what Stiles was talking about, why he was so nervous, and Derek wanted to ask what he had done to deserve this, when the rest of his life was not heading in so great a direction. This, he knew how to do. This he was good at, for the most part. Even Kate had-

He shook his head minutely, trying to shake the memories out with it. Stiles' face immediately went blank, and he took a step back.

"Yeah, okay, no, it was a stupid idea," Stiles mumbled, shifting his weight like he was about to turn and make for the door.

Derek was a monumental idiot. "Wait," he said, his mouth suddenly dry. He reached out and hooked a finger in one of Stiles' belt loops and tugged him closer. Stiles went with the tug willingly enough, but still looked wary. Derek could work with that. He could also work with the sudden butterflies in his stomach, the knowledge that if he only got one chance at this, he wanted to remember every detail.

"You wanna..." Stiles started and trailed off, licking his lips again.

Derek mirrored the motion, almost subconsciously. He counted it as a victory that Stiles' eyes tracked his tongue. "Yeah," he said.

He tugged at Stiles' belt loop again, until Stiles was forced to kneel on the couch, his knees on either side of Derek's thighs. He opened his mouth, about to say something and probably ruin the moment spectacularly, so Derek put a hand on the back of his neck and kissed him.

Stiles' lips were rough and chapped, and he made a surprised squeaking sound when Derek pressed his own against them. At first it was soft, and almost chaste, but when Derek parted his lips a little, Stiles' tongue was there and the kiss quickly turned filthy.

If there was one thing that Derek was good at -- and it truly might be only one thing -- it was using his body to get what he wanted. He broke away from Stiles' mouth and began nipping a line across his jaw. Stiles' entire front was pressed against him, and he could feel him hardening in his jeans.

Derek had never let himself imagine how this would go. He had never allowed himself to think about how Stiles' mouth would feel and what it would be like to have his hands on him. It wasn't something that was going to happen, so why bother thinking about it?

Now, Derek wished that he had imagined it at least once, so he wouldn't feel as overwhelmed by everything while it was happening. He tried to memorize every noise Stiles made, every breath and every soft gasp, and the feel of his hand cupping Derek's cheek, the weight of him. It was too much.

"This is nice and all," Stiles said, breathless and leaning back a little, just out of Derek's reach. "But maybe we should-"

Derek never got to find out what they should do. He palmed Stiles' dick through his jeans in the middle of the sentence and Stiles dropped open his mouth and pushed into his hand. Had Derek thought about it before, he might have had the wherewithal to move them to the bedroom. Had Derek thought about it at all other than a dull, aching want, he probably would not be unbuttoning Stiles' jeans on the couch and shoving a hand down his underwear to grasp his cock.

But he hadn't and all of his skill, all of the teaching Kate had taken the time to do, was going out the window and being replaced with the reality of Stiles being _right there_.

"Oh god," Stiles gasped, his eyes closing. Of course he was a talker. "That feels so good, don't stop."

"Wasn't planning on it," Derek muttered, jerking his hand slowly up and down Stiles' length. His hips stuttered up at the noises Stiles was making, beyond his control. He tried to stop, tried to make this about Stiles, but Stiles was scrabbling at his belt and the zipper on his jeans.

"Here, let me," Stiles said, pulling him out, making sure his cock didn't catch on the zipper's teeth. "Jesus," he swore and licked his lips. At the touch of his hand, Derek's hips bucked up again, and he momentarily forgot that he was jacking Stiles off.

Stiles whined, deep in his throat, and Derek started moving his hand again, matching the rhythm Stiles had started.

"You're so fucking hot," Stiles gasped out, thrusting into Derek's fist, his hand squeezing Derek's cock and making his own hips jump. "I can't believe we're actually-" he bit what he was saying off and leaned back in to kiss Derek.

Derek couldn't believe it either. He knew the way Stiles sometimes looked at him, but he also knew that a lot of things were better in fantasy than in real life. He could only hope he was measuring up and try not to disappoint.

His orgasm caught him by surprise. One minute he was thrusting into Stiles' tight fist, the next he was coming, his eyes flying open in surprise and panic because he didn't want this to end, not yet. Then Stiles was coming too with a shout and he knew it was over, too quickly.

Stiles rolled off of him and the sudden chill had him tucking his cock back in his pants quickly, little shivers of aftershock running through him. When he looked over, Stiles had already zipped his own jeans back up and was laying back on the couch, panting.

"Holy shit," Stiles said, staring at the ceiling in a way that had Derek's stomach dropping. "That was great. Thanks."

The silence that descended was so awkward even Derek could feel it. That wasn't something that you said to someone you planned on fucking again. That was something you said to... Derek didn't even know what.

Stiles had beard burn across the side of his face, a hickey darkening the join of his neck and his shoulder, and his hair was a mess. All Derek wanted to do was cart him off to the bedroom, and make him stay. But he couldn't do either of those things.

"I should probably go," Stiles said, scrubbing a hand across the back of his neck and looking down at his come-stained shirt. "I need to get back before Dad gets off shift and change."

"Yeah," Derek said, trying to keep his feelings about that out of his voice. He seemed to succeed, or at least, Stiles didn't notice anything was wrong.

"I'll, uh, see you around," Stiles said.

"Sure," Derek said, schooling his face into a neutral expression.

Stiles got up and hovered for a moment before going to the door and slipping outside. The door closing was an awful final sound.

###

Stiles had started hanging around when Derek came back from his road trip with Cora. He never said much about why, just laughed it off when Derek asked once in exasperation.

"It's definitely not your ugly mug keeping me around," he'd said, not even bothering to look up from the movie he was talking his way through. "Besides, I'm supposed to meet Scott downtown later tonight, and your place is closer than mine."

It hadn't made sense at the time, and it didn't make any more sense now that Derek was remembering it. They were watching the same bad movie on HBO and Stiles was yelling at the characters just like he had last time. Derek wasn't sure when the exasperation had turned into fondness, and when that had turned into this painful desire for something he could never have. It had just... happened over the years.

Derek had expected Stiles to disappear after they fucked, to be awkward and never come back to the apartment. Instead, Stiles had showed up the next day, holding aloft a takeout bag and the new Grand Theft Auto.

"I thought we could eat burgers and run over some pedestrians," he said, pushing his way past Derek and dropping the takeout bag on the couch.

Derek stared blankly into the hallway from the doorway. He had already resigned himself to not seeing Stiles for a while, already resigned himself to being a regrettable one-night stand. While the latter may still be true -- people who wanted sex did not bring over the double-onion burgers that Derek liked -- at the least the former wasn't. He would be grateful to be considered just a regret rather than have Stiles gone forever.

He had become so good at imagining worst-case scenarios that then happened, the fact that this wasn't going to be one had his knees weak with relief.

"What's out there?" Stiles called from the couch, at which point Derek realized he'd been staring into the hallway longer than he could just brush off.

"Thought I saw something," he said, and went to sit at the opposite end of the couch from Stiles, who looked at him oddly for a moment and then shoved the takeout bag over.

"Ready to kick some pedestrian ass?"

Derek was ready to do whatever Stiles told him to do for the moment.

That lasted a whole half hour until he flipped his car for the third time -- he was shit at video games, always had been -- and Stiles absently told him to be useful and throw out the takeout if he was going to keep dying like Scott did.

"Throw it out your damn self," Derek growled back and shoved the pile of trash between them closer to Stile's side of the couch.

"I'm not the one who can't stop dying," Stiles said. "Have you ever even driven a car before?"

"Fuck you," he said, not his greatest comeback.

"You wish," Stiles said, eyes on the game. Derek jerked before he could stop himself, and looked hard at Stiles, who was grinning at the screen and didn't even have the courtesy to look at him back.

And so there they were, a week later, watching a shitty shark movie on TV. Derek kept stealing glances at Stiles when he wasn't looking, at the shell of his ear, at the curve of his throat. He wished he had been better, more focused, the one time he'd had a chance to show Stiles that he could be someone worth- not sticking around for, because Stiles clearly didn't have any intention of up and leaving, he wasn't Derek. But someone worth _something_ , at least.

"What?" Stiles asked, proving that Derek hadn't been as stealthy in his staring as he'd thought. "Do I have something on my face?"

"No," Derek said and turned his attention back to the movie instead of watching Stiles' lips.

Stiles was quiet for maybe three whole seconds before he turned to Derek, one leg bent under him on the couch, and said, "Hey, do you want to make out?"

And that was how they ended up fucking the second time.

###

After that it became sort of a... thing, Derek would have to say. Stiles would come over a couple times a week, sometimes they'd go out for food, and maybe one time out of three they would end up fucking somewhere in the apartment. After the first time, what Derek thought of as the disastrous time when he couldn't keep his head on his shoulders, he concentrated on making it as good for Stiles as he knew how. If Stiles looked wrecked at the end of it, spent and exhausted, Derek knew he had done a good job. On the few occasions the sex was less than spectacular, Derek would wake up in the middle of the night, his stomach clenching, worrying that would be it.

Kate had always let him know when he hadn't done a good enough job to please her and threatened to never come back if he didn't do a good enough job the next time. Derek knew that Stiles wasn't Kate, wasn't anything like Kate, but there was always a part of him that was worrying he wouldn't get a second chance to prove that he could be the best fuck buddy Stiles ever had.

He sometimes wondered if that was even true, if maybe there was someone out there that Stiles would find one day who wouldn't fuck up sex by doing the wrong thing, or saying the wrong thing, or being awkward and terrible at everything.

He dreaded the day Stiles found that person, because that would be the day he stopped ever getting to see Stiles coming undone beneath him.

The thing was, he kept telling himself that he would be okay with just being Stiles' fuck buddy. That being able to screw him senseless was all he needed. But no matter how many times he told himself that, he couldn't stop wishing he was something more. He couldn't stop wishing that Stiles would stay once, after they had sex. Not even necessarily cuddle, just stay in the same apartment as him instead of leaving like he'd gotten what he'd come for and there was no reason for him to be there anymore.

But still, being fuck buddies was going great right up until the point he managed to catch werewolf flu.

###

"What do you mean, _werewolf flu_ I thought werewolves couldn't get sick!" 

The voice roused Derek from what had felt like a fitful nap on the couch. He blinked his eyes blearily and could see both Stiles and Deaton standing over him. He closed his eyes again. He knew giving Stiles a spare key last year when he needed some place to study for finals had been a bad idea.

"They can't catch human illnesses," Deaton said with infinite patience. "But that doesn't mean viruses haven't evolved to specifically target supernatural beings." After a moment, he continued, his footsteps moving away, "He'll be fine, Stiles, just like if you caught the flu."

"Three thousand people die every year from the flu," Stiles called after him. "Look it up."

Deaton's only response was a chuckle and the sound of the front door closing.

Derek was burning up from the inside out. Everything was too hot and it felt like there was a metal spike being pounded into his skull. His whole body hurt. When a cool hand came down on his forehead, he almost cried with relief. It was only there for a second before Stiles drew it away, and Derek couldn't help the whine in the back of his throat when that happened. After a second it was back, big and warm and blessedly cool.

"Hey," Stiles said softly. "Are you awake?"

Derek nodded underneath his hand, immediately regretting it when a stab of pain went through his head at the motion.

"I called Deaton when you wouldn't wake up when I got here. He says you've got the flu. Did you know werewolves can get the flu?" Derek didn't answer, but he kind of wanted Stiles to keep talking. It was... soothing. "Stupid question, you've probably had it before. Do you think if I help you can make it to the bedroom?"

"Yeah," Derek croaked, his throat scratchy and dry. He wasn't sure at all, to be honest, but he didn't want to stay there. He was too hot, but he was shivering at the same time, his body unable to decide what temperature it needed to be.

He almost changed his mind when Stiles pulled him up and the world tilted alarmingly around him, but Stiles was there to steady him and together they made it to the California king in the bedroom. Derek was physically exhausted by the time they got there and dropped face first on the mattress. He moved sluggishly when Stiles prodded him to as he pulled out the sheets and tucked Derek in. It had been a long time since anyone tucked Derek in, and suddenly he didn't want to be alone. He didn't care that Stiles might laugh in his face, that they weren't like that. He was so sick of being alone.

As Stiles turned to go, saying, "I'll come check on you in a bit," Derek quietly pleaded, "Stay." He hated himself for how much it came out like a whimper, but Stiles hesitated and then turned back to the bed.

"Okay," he said, kicking off his shoes and climbing in, sliding down the jersey cotton sheets and turning onto his side. "Okay."

Derek hitched his body closer to Stiles, drawing in on himself at the same time, even feeling as bad as he was still having the presence of mind to worry that Stiles was going to change his mind. Instead, Stiles pushed himself closer to Derek and drew him right up against him.

"Shh," he said, right into Derek's ear, his hand cool and soothing as it smoothed down Derek's side. "Go to sleep. You'll feel better when you wake up."

And Derek did.

###

Derek did _not_ feel better when he woke up. If anything, he felt even worse, as the bed dipped and Stiles slipped out of it. The sound he made wasn't quite a pathetic whimper, but it was close. It made Stiles turn and lean in to pull the blankets higher around him.

"I'll be back," he said as he did so, stopping to feel Derek's forehead, like he knew anything about werewolf biology. "I just need to go get my laptop from the house. I still need to finish a term paper; I didn't plan on spending all night here, you know."

The guilt hit Derek sharp in the chest. Of course this hadn't been what Stiles planned on doing with his night. He probably had other plans, maybe hanging out with Scott, or working on his term paper, or-

"I'll be back," Stiles said again, jostling Derek out of his thoughts and smoothing a hand through his hair. It felt good, and he caught himself leaning into the touch. "Just go back to sleep."

###

The next time Derek woke up, it was to the clacking of keys. Stiles was sitting in bed next to him, leaning against the headboard. When he noticed Derek was awake, he smiled down at him and dropped a hand to run through Derek's hair again, and Derek wanted to capture the moment forever. Instead, he nuzzled his face into Stiles' bony hip and went back to sleep.

###

So it went for a few days, the only thing Derek really remembering about the hazy blur of passing time being Stiles, and someone -- probably also Stiles -- forcing him to eat some chicken soup. He hadn't been sick in years, but he remembered this feeling, this cloudy exhausted feeling where he slept for days and then, at the end, woke up feeling completely fine.

When he woke up four days after Stiles found him passed out on the couch, his head was clear for the first time in almost a week. Stiles was wrapped around him, snoring softly, so he carefully extricated himself and went to take a shower and wash the grime of being sick off of himself.

He was so fucked. He vaguely remembered Stiles being there the whole time he was sick, remembered him being soft and gentle. He wasn't sure why Stiles had agreed to it, and wasn't sure what was going to happen when Stiles woke up. He didn't want to think about how much it was going to hurt, going back to his old life after four days of...

He was so fucked.

Once he was dry and dressed, he just went and sat in the chair by the bed in the dark, elbows on his knees and head down, trying desperately to think of something he could do to salvage this. It might be best to just let everything go and start over, somewhere else. A little voice in the back of his head that sounded a lot like Stiles was telling him it was ridiculous to run away from something that wasn't even a problem yet, but he told it to shut up. It wasn't ridiculous, it was being proactive. It was acting instead of reacting.

In the end it didn't matter because Stiles woke up, smiled at him, and said, "Feeling better?"

Derek nodded, and began forcing words out before he could chicken out of saying anything. "Thank you. For this. I know we're not- so. Thanks."

"We're not what?" Stiles asked, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes.

"You know," Derek said, gritting his teeth. "We're not... that."

"That's not actually an answer," Stiles said, looking confused and a little worried. "We're not _what_."

Derek forced himself to say it evenly, without any of the want that had formed a solid ball in the pit of his stomach. "I know that we're not dating, so thank you. For staying, even though you didn't have to."

Stiles face had gone white and alarmingly blank. "I see," he said coldly, and Derek couldn't figure out where he had gone wrong. "I see," he repeated, sliding out of the bed and gathering his clothes with jerky movements. "I'll just be going then."

"Stiles, wait, I-" But he didn't know what to say after that. He wasn't quite sure what he had done, just that he had made a monumental mistake and now the only good thing in his life was hurrying out the door.

"Save it," Stiles said, stuffing his laptop into his bag and making a beeline for the door. "We're not dating, remember? It was just a bro helping another bro out."

Except that felt wrong, Stiles' heart was going like a jackhammer and that felt wrong and Derek was confused and just wanted to rewind to back when he woke up warm and safe and loved and-

And-

Stiles was already gone.

###

Derek hadn't realized how much Stiles had inserted himself into his life until he wasn't around anymore. The apartment felt too big and too quiet without his incessant chatter to fill it, and Derek found himself wandering around, dragging his hand over the back of furniture, wondering when his place had gotten so big. It had never felt that way before.

It felt like a piece of him was missing.

The apartment was silent around him and everywhere reminded him of Stiles. The couch, the table in the kitchen, the stupid DVDs he kept finding in the wrong boxes, his bed. Everything _smelled_ like Stiles, something he hadn't noticed, really, until the smell started fading.

Stiles would tell him that he needed to quit brooding and pretending to be a big scary werewolf to everyone in Scott's pack who came to the door to check on him. Like he needed checking on. Scott and Isaac had both come by and given him variations on the same speech -- "I don't know what you did to Stiles but you better fix it, asshole" -- before he kicked them out. Fuck them, and fuck Stiles. He didn't need that bullshit.

Besides, it wasn't like Stiles was there to tell him to knock it off. Stiles wasn't there to tell him anything, and after the first awful few day he refused to care. The knot in his stomach didn't always listen to him on that point, but that was okay, he didn't need it to. Because he didn't care.

He didn't care when Scott came over to collect a handful of video games Stiles wanted back. It didn't feel like a kick in the gut when Isaac dropped off the spare key he had given Stiles and clapped him on the shoulder like that would make him feel any better. It didn't matter when his bed started to stop smelling as strongly of Stiles' scent mixed in with his.

"What?" he shouted crossly a week after Stiles had first stormed out of the apartment when someone knocked on the door. If it was Scott again he was going to throw him bodily out of the apartment.

The person didn't answer, just knocked again, harder. When he finally opened the door, his insides ran cold like his guts had been torn out and the empty cavity stuffed with ice.

"What do you want?" he snapped, not stepping back to let Stiles in.

Stiles had his arms crossed over his chest and was glaring at Derek. "I need to know," he said through his teeth, "was it just some big joke to you?"

Derek almost slammed the door in Stiles' face and went back to sitting on the couch and staring at the turned off television. Instead, his anger -- and his need to know _what he'd done_ , for the small part of himself that thought he could still fix it -- got the better of him and he spat out, "Was _what_ a joke to me? I still don't know what I fucking did."

"Fucking me," Stiles said, his voice and face devoid of the anger that had been filling it just moments before, devoid of any emotion. "Were you just playing some sick joke, trying to see how far you could get me to fall before you got bored?"

Derek jerked back like he'd been slapped. "I thought we were _friends_ ," he said, "I thought-" He didn't know what he thought. He knew that Stiles fucking him was a bad idea for Stiles, knew it wasn't going to end well, but he hadn't thought it would feel this awful when it did, when he found out exactly what Stiles thought.

"What the fuck," Stiles said, his voice softer.

"Just tell me what I did, Stiles," Derek said, sudden desperation filling him and making it feel like he was choking. "I can fix it, I swear, I can-" He could be better. He was sure. He could be better and he wouldn't have to feel this aching loneliness anymore, which was a hundred times worse than the want for more he'd felt when they were fuck buddies.

"What kind of friends," Stiles asked, ignoring everything Derek had said, "fuck each other like that?"

Derek looked to the side and down, because clearly Stiles wasn't asking to get an answer. He didn't want to hear "friends with benefits," he was too busy puzzling it out for himself at Derek's front door, making Derek more and more tense with each minute that passed.

"You're fucked up," Stiles finally said.

"I know," Derek said honestly, his voice quiet.

"Not that there's anything wrong with friends with benefits," Stiles hurried to say. "I mean, not something I would knowingly choose for myself, but I'm sure- The point is-

"Can I come in?" he finally asked, sighing, his whole body seeming to deflate. There were dark circles under his eyes, Derek noticed. "And can we talk?"

Derek stepped aside silently and let Stiles, who made a beeline straight for his favorite spot on the couch, into the apartment. Derek hovered uncertainly by the door until Stiles patted the couch beside him. He sat down at the far end and watched Stiles warily.

"I guess I never did get the whole question out," Stiles mused. "And you obviously took it as 'want to go have sex' and not 'want to go out with me'."

Derek nodded cautiously, not sure what to fill the ensuing silence with. He didn't know where this was going, and figured that normal people would probably feel a flicker of hope at the direction the conversation was heading in. But he could only feel dread that this was going to take an abrupt shift back somewhere unpleasant and Stiles would be gone again.

"Clearly what we're lacking here," Stiles said, licking his lips, "is communication, not desire. Right?" he suddenly added at the end, looking at Derek.

Derek nodded, his throat dry.

"So," Stiles said, licking his lips, "what do you want from a relationship? Can we start there?"

Derek froze. There was- there was so much that he wanted. There was so much he wanted that he thought he couldn't have, and there was Stiles offering up... He wasn't quite sure what he was offering up, because Stiles could always say no to anything. But he was offering up _something_ , and Derek found the tight knot in his stomach beginning to loosen.

"Come on, just one thing," Stiles said, encouraging, "because obviously what we had wasn't really working for either of us."

"For you to stay after we fuck," Derek finally choked out under Stiles' patient gaze.

"You never seemed like you wanted me to, so I always cleared out," Stiles admitted, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck and looking away. "But yeah, I can definitely do that."

The knot in Derek's stomach loosened further.

"Okay, my turn," Stiles said, rubbing his hands together, and Derek could feel the nerves coming off of him. Derek wanted to tell him that it didn't matter, that he would give him anything he wanted, if only he'd promise to stay. "Can you- Can we- Can there be more, like, touching? You always sit really far away and, I don't know, I guess I'd like, I don't know. Wow, this is harder than it seemed ten seconds ago."

"We can do whatever you want," Derek said quietly, relief slowly but surely seeping into his limbs and body.

"Don't say that," Stiles said sharply, making Derek's stomach muscles clench again. "What about what you want?"

He couldn't say that it didn't matter to him, he knew that wasn't what Stiles wanted to hear. But what else was there to say? So he didn't say anything.

"I'm serious," Stiles said, leaning forward to catch his eyes again. "We can't do this if you're not going to tell me what you want. I'm not a mind reader."

It turned out those four words -- "We can't do this" -- were enough to get rid of any relaxation that had started to seep into him. His entire body stiffened up again and he looked away from Stiles. He felt like he was fifteen again, fucking up over and over and making Kate look at him like he was trash she wanted to be grinding under her boot.

Except suddenly Stiles was _right there_ next to him, his hand on his arm, looking concerned.

"Hey," he said. "I didn't say you had to be good at it. I'm sure we're both going to fuck up a lot. But we both need to try, okay? I don't want to worry that I'm always taking advantage of you just because you're not saying anything."

"You couldn't," Derek said, shaking his head. Stiles couldn't do anything that would be taking advantage when Derek was happy to give him everything. When Stiles took his hand away, he might have leaned toward him a little, following it with his body, before he could stop himself.

"What else?" Stiles asked. "Pinky swear, one more from each of us and we can be done for a while."

"Can I-" Derek looked toward the table, studying it so he didn't have to look Stiles in the eye. He could feel the warmth of him from where he was sitting, a presence that filled up any room he was in. It was almost comforting. "Can I repeat what you said about touching?"

"Because you want to or because you think I want you to?" Stiles asked.

"I liked- When I was sick-" Derek trailed off, still studying the kitchen table. It needed to be leveled a little, he would have to remember to do that later.

"Okay," Stiles said, "Sorry, I shouldn't have questioned it." He slid closer along the couch and moved Derek's arm so it was around his shoulders and he was snuggled against his side. "Okay?"

Derek nodded, adjusting his arm to be more comfortable, and smiling a little to himself when Stiles wiggled closer to him.

"I know I've joked about this before, but can you please try to relax when we're fucking?" Stiles asked. "It makes me nervous."

Derek looked down at his fist, clenched in his lap. "I don't want to screw it up," he said quietly.

Stiles laughed, and Derek flinched away from him, hard to do when one arm was around Stiles' shoulders. "No, no," Stiles said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh. Hey, look at me." He cupped Derek's cheek in his hand and despite himself, Derek leaned into the touch. " _Nothing_ you could do could fuck up sex so bad I would dump you, okay? Nothing."

Derek nodded, his beard scratching against Stiles' hand. He didn't know if he believed Stiles, didn't know if he ever would, but he could try.

"Sometimes I wish Kate were still alive just so I could punch her in the face," Stiles said, earning a huff of something that was almost laughter from Derek.

For the first time in a long time, Derek thought that maybe things were going to be okay.

THE END


End file.
